


No Food For You

by Huntress69



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: 1x15 "Destiny" Never Happened, Humor, M/M, Mick Vs Gideon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 21:06:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7330654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huntress69/pseuds/Huntress69
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mick doesn't like it when his meals are messed with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Food For You

**Author's Note:**

> Stand-alone fic, but references [**Laundry**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7275886).

**Disclaimer:** Will I ever own Mick Rory? I dunno. I'll go ask my _Magic 8 Ball_ (TM)

**~~~~~~~~~~**

The Waverider's kitchen was an interesting place.

Although there were foods already stocked - such as fruits and vegetables from the hydroponics section, and 22nd century snacks (which nobody seemed to enjoy but Ray) - the crew, for the most part, preferred to eat their own and Gideon prepared it for them. 

But for the times they opted to prepare their own they had installed an oven and microwave. ( **They** installed was almost a joke; five men - two with multiple PhD's and one from the 22nd century - who couldn't figure out how to hook either up, so Sara and Kendra (who raised their fists and shouted "GIRL POWER!") had taken care of it.)

Mick had stocked his _food cubby_ (Ray's name choice, of course) with meat and potatoes. Today he was in the mood for a hamburger and French fries. He asked for his food, rubbed his hands together and smiled, took his burger out of the slot, bit into it and quickly frowned. "This is medium; I asked for blood-rare," he said to the air, knowing Gideon would hear him. "And I asked for fries, not mashed," he ate a forkful, "and there's no flavor on them. I want butter and salt."

"If meat is not cooked enough there is the risk of salmonella," she replied, "and fried foods are not healthy. Your caloric and sodium intakes are higher than they should be."

"I don't care; you cook the food the way I want it, because I - the human - am in charge, not you." He threw his food in the disposal. "And I'll worry about my own damn calories and cholesterol and anything else regarding my eatin' habits. You got that?"

"I am programmed to watch out for my crew and their health."

"And I am programmed to kick artificial brain's asses!" Mick snarled. "Now give me a burger - still bleeding - and some French fries with a shitload of salt." The slot opened with a burger and once again he bit into it and spit it out. "Now it's well-done! And where are my fries?" Mick watched another slot open...and found a plate with mini red potatoes. "What the hell?" Pissed now, he opened the nearest wall panel and began to pull out circuit cards at random. 

"You are doing no damage." Gideon's voice had a humorous lilt to it.

"This is just a test run." Mick yanked a few wires out next. "Wait'll I get to work on the rest of you."

"Mister Rory," she practically sighed, "I will not be impaired by your weapon. You should know that by now." 

"Who said anything about my heat gun?" Mick sneered. "Did you know I have a pair of pliers, a wrench and a hatchet?"

"I think you mean a hammer," she told him with a sarcastic bite, purposely adding "idiot" to goad him.

For a change Mick ignored the put-down; he just grinned maniacally. "I know what I said."

It took Rip two days to (manually) fix Gideon's communication circuits so she was speaking anything but gibberish.

Gideon herself was not at all pleased at what Mick had done to her and, as she had previously, plotted her own version of revenge.

**~~~~~~~~~~**

Mick was having a difficult time getting anything to eat.

The only food provided for him was salad. No matter what he asked for, he received salad - a bed of lettuce topped with slices of tomato and cucumber and shredded carrots - plain, no dressing.

He asked for coffee and got warm milk.

An attempt to take a piece of bread and the food dispensers exploded, spitting out Sara's hard-as-cement tastes-like-cardboard cookies like balls in a batting cage; no, Mick was not taking responsibility for Ray's concussion.

The team thought it was hysterical.

Len finally just pushed his plate of turkey and mashed potatoes over to Mick. 

Every utensil Mick picked up was magnetized and he couldn't lift them. Undeterred, Mick bent his head to eat; before he could get a mouthful, the food froze.

MIck tried to cook his own food but no matter what temperature he set the oven to, it cooked at 800 degrees and the microwave wouldn't heat anything for him.

And Gideon wasn't allowing anyone to leave the kitchen with food. Every time someone tried to leave with a plate the doors closed and they were forbidden to exit. Not to mention that food stuffs anyone hoarded in their quarters tended to mysteriously vanish.

**~~~~~~~~~~**

A mission to 1983 and Mick didn't give a shit if Savage blew up the whole damn universe. He wandered off to Burger King and ordered half the menu; Mick got the stomach ache from hell and was laid up for two days.

**~~~~~~~~~~**

Len entered their quarters, finding his partner pacing. "What's wrong with you?"

Mick paused mid-step and his stomach rumbled rather loudly. "I need real food; it's been a week now." 

"You should've learned your lesson after the laundry incident." Len tsk'd. "Picking fights with Gideon is not a smart thing to do."

"Fix this." Mick was actually begging. "If anybody can do it, Len, you can."

"What about Rip? He's in charge of the ship." Not that Len (or anyone else) believed that anymore; after eight months - unless there was a mission involved, and even then - the team had taken to doing as they pleased. 

Mick shook his head. "I'm not asking **him** for help."

"Okay." Len sighed; he was beginning to feel for Mick. "You need to say you're sorry."

"To a computer?" Mick was insulted. 

"She's not just a computer, Mick," Len corrected. "She's an artificial intelligence; programmed to evolve."

"Forget it; I'm not apologizing to a damn circuit board." Mick was grinding his teeth. "I'll survive."

"On lettuce?" Len covered his mouth but it was clear he was starting to giggle.

"Oh, this is nice; my partner is laughing at me!" Mick opened his door. "Fuck off and get out." 

"But Mick, this is funny."

"GET OUT!"

"It's my room, too, Mick, and I want to go to sleep."

Mick's eyes were wild. "Go sleep on the damn flight deck as far as I'm concerned." He pushed Len out the door.

"Okay, Mick, I will, but unless you want to live on rabbit food I suggest you ask her forgiveness." Before the door slid shut Len blew him a kiss. "And if you don't want to sleep alone, just page me. I'll be listening."

**~~~~~~~~~~**

The next day Len found Mick in the kitchen and the big, tough, hard-as-nails arsonist - who could crack your jaw, break your arms and stab you in both kidneys in under three minutes (Len had actually seen that) - looked like he was going to cry. 

"Len, I'm starving. I can't take it anymore."

"I don't know if I want to talk to you." Len growled under his breath. "I spent the night sleeping in Rip's chair."

"I'm sorry, Lenny." Mick was contrite. "I'm sure I'll be in a better mood once I get some FOOD IN MY STOMACH!"

"I'll let it go only because you're suffering from hunger pangs." Len waved his hand in the air and looked up. "And if you can apologize to me, you can apologize to...."

Mick understood. "I'm sorry, Gideon. From the bottom of my heart. Please..." he glanced at Len, who looked rather smug, "...forgive me."

"That should be good, Mick."

There was silence and Mick smiled at Len and then faced the food dispenser. "A sirloin, 16 ounces, rare, with a side of mashed...no, a baked potato, with butter and sour cream." 

"And chives," Len added.

"Yeah, lots of chives." Mick pushed the button for the dispenser and waited until it signaled his food was ready. The slot opened and revealed...salad. "WHAT THE FUCK?!" He was fuming. "I said I'm sorry!"

"That is all good and well, Mister Rory," Gideon announced, "but I do not believe you were being sincere and in no way do I consider your words a bona fide apology."

One glimpse at Mick's expression and Len fled the kitchen.

Martin passed Len on his way **to** the kitchen. "Snack break."

"I wouldn't go in there if I were you," Len told him.

"Why not?"

"Mick's a little upset."

Martin heard noise and he saw bits and pieces of equipment getting thrown into the corridor. "I'm glad I keep a supply of Twinkies well-hidden in my room."

"Have I told you how much I respect you, Professor Stein?"

"No, you get none, Mister Snart."

"I'll pout."

"Feel free."

There were two loud crashes and they saw what appeared to be the microwave landing in the corridor.

Len smirked. "I'll have Mick pay your lab a visit."

Martin caved. "You can have one, and only one."

Next came the oven door.

"And Martin, I'll take some of your stash also."

"Certainly not!"

Oven burners came sailing out, getting lodged in the walls.

"Just so you know, Mick redecorates bedrooms also."

"Perhaps I was too hasty, Leonard; I'll be happy to share."

"Sara can join us; she'll bring her bong."

**~~~~~~~~~~**

After a few more days (and a quick stop in 2017 to pick up a new oven and microwave) Len finally intervened and brokered a truce between Mick and Gideon. He was unsure if he did it to stop Mick's cranky mood or the fact that he was sick of sleeping everywhere but their bed - being Len couldn't stop laughing about the 'situation', Mick kept locking him out of their room.

Mick got to eat foods and received drinks that Gideon deemed appropriate and healthy.

Chicken, broiled. Vegetables, steamed. Iced tea, unsweetened.

Mick complained.

Salad.

Mick shut up.

**FIN**


End file.
